Quando Parli
by Lys de Pluie
Summary: If I had told you, you would never have made an effort to learn Spanish ! You were a difficult child.' Romano wanted to open the door right away at that, just to be able to bang it back into the Spaniard's face.' SpeRo, rated for.. well, mature & Romano
1. Chapter 1

_AN : I'm spamming you guys with all this SpeRo. Don't complain. This is not beta'd/corrected in any way either, btw. ;)  
__M rating will be from chapter 6/7 (yes, I have already written quite a bit)._

_De-anoing fro the kink meme. The subject was "language kink", with Spain actually being totally fluent in Italian and Romano somehow finding out. And being pissed and/or aroused. I'm not officially done with the story yet but it feels strange to post so many chapters at once only if I'm done. So yeah. Have some SpainxRomano / RomanoxSpain. It totally depends on the moment in the story. Oh, and totally overprotective little Feli, because he's just awesome like that.  
And Romano is in denial.  
Warning for South Italy being the adorable foul-mouthed big brother he is._

_

* * *

_

The actual reason why he had decided to wake up this morning and not to spend his day lazily under his blankets was still a mystery to him. It might have been the fact that once woken up, he was unable to fall asleep again until _siesta_ time. It might have been the fact that he knew his little brother to be in the same house as him and he had _no intention at all_ to be greeted by flames or anything German like it had already happened many times too often. It might have been the fact that people were speaking downstairs, and that was in about seventy percent of the cases the preliminary for some idiocy of that stupid brother of his. It might have been the fact that him and Spain hadn't seen each other for about nine days, and the latter visited every ten. Might. Yet, Romano was persuaded this was not the main reason.

And now he was regretting to have ever stood up. Curled in a ball against a wall of his bedroom, arms draped over his knees, his hand still bleeding a bit from the cuts of the plate he had thrown and that had stupidly jumped back at him, he glared at the locked door as if his mere glance could make it burst into flames.

With a little luck, he thought, it would burn down the house and anything stupid, smiling, oblivious and _Spanish_ with it.

Of course, Romano had no such luck, and said stupid, smiling, oblivious and Spanish presence didn't even want to get away from his door. It had already been thirty. fucking. minutes. Didn't he ever give up ?

"Loviiii~..." came the whine from the other side of the door (apparently, no). "Please, _lo siento_, open the door, I swear it was the first tim–"

"WAS. NOT." the Italian screeched "Why would I believe you ?! It's not like you've ever been honest to me !"

His statement was met with silence ; one of the suffocating kind, the one you want to get rid off, but never be the first to do so. He was too far away from the door to hear anything when the other spoke softly, it was the only reason he scooted closer. Because the bastard didn't talk louder, and he wasn't going to ask him to. No way.

"What did I do, Lovi ? If I had told you, you would never have made an effort to learn Spanish ! You were a difficult child." Romano wanted to open the door right away at that, just to be able to bang it back into the Spaniard's face. The other chuckled softly. "But you were still cute." He could practically _hear_ the other grin now, what was he going to–no, WAIT. "_Molto adorabile_."

He did open the door, he did slam it back into Spain's face, he even screamed something at him, and was mortified at the single thought that the other probably understood every single one of his words.

He'd have to start insulting people in another language than Italian now. _Damn_.

"Ouch ! Lovi ! Not cute !"

"Not my fucking problem." he said through gritted teeth, and made sure to have locked the door again. "Bastard, don't ever talk to me again !"

"You know that's not possible, Lovi~ !"

Romano didn't even bother to respond this time. He walked to his window, checked the high (it could have changed since the last time he used it as an exit), gripped the edge, slowly slid down the outside wall as far as he could, and then let go.

Perfect landing.

Despite himself, Romano smiled. So he hadn't spent half his life running away from people for nothing ? Good to know. He walked around the (huge, to his chagrin) house of his, walked into the kitchen and grabbed a few tomatoes. He was hungry now.

"Ve, _fratello_, did you know big brother Spain speaks Italian ?"

_Shit_, he had forgotten his brother. Romano turned around slowly, and the look on his face clearly read "What are you doing here ?"

"Well, I came over yesterday, you forgot ? Ve..." the younger said.

"No. Unfortunately." he answered, glaring. "Listen, I'm going out." his brother was about to interrupt. "Somewhere, don't ask why. Just let me go."

"Oh. Okay. Did you tell big brother Spain goodbye ? He came here just for you !" After a little pause, he added "Ve."

"No, I didn't. And the one he talked to was you, not me, Veneziano. I'm leaving now." With that, he ran out, one tomato in his hand (where had he left the others ?), the juice slowly dripping down the flesh and along his hand, along with the blood.

One last scream of "LOVIII !" was all he heard before he sped away on his Vespa.


	2. Chapter 2

"Fucking bastard !" Romano screamed, kicking his beloved Vespa. How was it possible the fuel went out ? And how was it possible that he had landed in a part of _his country_ he _didn't know_ ?! So much for driving far away to get some rest.

Everything was obviously Spain's fault.

_He_ was the one who had been at his house, _he_ was the one talking with Veneziano, _he_ was the one talking in Italian.

He still couldn't really believe it. Since when could he... ? Was he able to talk to him in Italian back then when _he_ had to learn Spanish ? Spain had forced his culture upon him but had never told him that he actually was interested in _his_ as well ? It was so humiliating ! That was probably what the bastard had aimed for since the very beginning. Humiliating him, because he was able to learn a second language and Romano had never wanted to (not that he didn't know Spanish... But it had more turned into a dialect than staying the actual language). That was it. And the worst in all this was that Veneziano knew. He hadn't told him (him, Romano) who he knew for over four centuries (he had lost count years ago) and had raised and protected and loved and seen grow up, but he had told his little brother. Adorable Veneziano. He felt a sting in his heart of what he wished was disappointment for being lost, but knew was pain and sorrow.

Didn't Spain trust him enough ?

After all, he had never been a good confidant. A lot less than his brother. Little brother.

Again, Romano kicked his Vespa, hoping it would turn back on by miracle, which unsurprisingly did not happen. He had been driving for at least an hour, no way he was going to go back by foot... !

Romano checked his options : the first one was to walk home. Not that he didn't like to walk, but fifty kilometers or something ? No thank you, he really didn't need that. Second option was to call someone to pick him up, and when he checked his mobile phone, he saw the screen flashing a happy "13 missed calls" at him (seven were from his brother, six form Spain), and he had to reconsider this one because there was nobody he could (or wanted) to actually call. Third option was to find a gas station in this middle of nowhere (was it even possible ?), and drive off somewhere else with his scooter. Fourth was to wait for a miracle.

He took the third option, and started wandering about, pulling his vehicle along. He could now only hope for no more complications.

* * *

He hadn't planned this. Not at all. He had just exchanged a few words with the younger Italian in their native tongue, how was he supposed to know it would upset Romano so much ? Was his Italian so horrible ? He knew he had an accent, he had never really practiced it with a teacher or anything after all, but it surely wasn't _that_ bad, right ? Maybe was it the intonation on the "_Dov'è_" ? Really, he had just asked where his little Lovi was, and said something about Italy's cuteness and adorableness, and then Romano had suddenly appeared, screamed something close to the entirety of all bad words in the Italian language, thrown a plate at him and hurt himself ("Lovi ! Are you oka–") and had stormed off to lock himself in his room. He had tried so hard to get him out of it, but the younger nation was terribly stubborn, probably even more than him. The only time he had opened the door, it was to insult him again. This was getting so repetitive, and so not cute ! In the end, Romano had somehow escaped and driven away. Spain wasn't fast enough to stop him even when the latter's little brother had called him with a "VE ! BIG BROTHER SPAIN, WHAT DID YOU DO TO _FRATELLO_ ?!" scream, menacingly pointing a big wooden spoon he probably used for pasta at him as soon as he had run down the stairs, and seriously, Spain had no idea how a simple "_Come stai ?_" and "_Dov'è tuo fratello ?_" got him to be insulted by a very angry Italy and threatened by a very hysteric one.

He thought he would try to find Romano, but the look Italy gave him (the "move from this spot and I won't hesitate to use this spoon to eviscerate you"-look) quickly made him understand that indeed, he might have to give in for once and let the young man look for his sibling. He had been rather good with bow and arrows for a time after all, and who knew what Italians could do with a spoon, they used them so often during their cooking...

…

But still, was his Italian _this_ horrible ?

A very loud crash-like sound told him that Veneziano had just driven away, and that he was, obviously, just as hysteric as before. Sometimes he could just _feel_ the joys of being an only child... ! He decided that the brothers weren't going to come home soon, and took the initiative to make something for dinner (what? Six in the evening already ?). Tomatoes ? Check ! The most important ingredient was there !

… Okay, maybe not the most important ingredient. He still had to somehow get a chicken, rabbit, rice and beans. And the spices.

"Well... Than let's get started !" he said joyfully to himself, and looked for the ingredients for his paella.

* * *

So Spain actually knew Italian ? Well, that was new. To him, at least. His brother probably knew. He always knew everything about Spain (and would deny it). But he had just ran away like that, and had forgotten two tomatoes, his keys and his jacket.

No, no, no, no, NO.

His brother couldn't be gone like this ! What if something happened ? He was upset ! When Romano was upset, he would always take his Vespa and drive off somewhere. And he sometimes would run into the mafia ! Italy shook his head, focusing on the road (and daring any pedestrian to come in a one-meter radius of his car while he stormed through Rome) and mentally running through places his brother would go to. Somewhere to eat ? No, he wasn't the kind to eat when pissed. Visiting monuments ?... Absurd, he knew Rome by heart, there was nothing to visit ! Someone else's place ? Romano didn't visit anyone beside himself and occasionally Spain. So he had driven around aimlessly ? You had to be kidding him !

"_Fratello_..." he murmured softly, more to himself than anything else, creating a rather interesting contrast with his dangerous driving style. "Don't let anything happen to you..."

A loud scream told him that he had just exceeded a speed limit and bumped into a car from behind... again.

He drove around a corner, ignoring the accident he had just caused, not even reading the names of the streets he passed. He didn't need to, just concentrate where his brother could have gone, and hoping he wouldn't pop up at their house while he wasn't there. On the other hand, there was still Spain, even if Romano might not want to see him then.

"Ve..."

* * *

_AN : Romano has totally no luck when it comes to the Mafia. Be strong, Lovi !_

_Translations :_

_Come stai ? (It) How are you ?_  
_Dov'è tuo fratello ? (It) Where is your brother ?  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_AN : Let's all be happy, I like posting. It's a lot of fun, actually :'D  
Translations at the end~_

* * *

Romano had wished for no more complications. Of course, this was a very difficult thing to ask for when you were South Italy, place ruled by the mafia, and as unfortunate as him.

"So, what do you expect from me _now_ you morons ?"

"We heard you were feeling a little better those times, what about give us a little more of that money so that we ca–"

"You got me kidnapped... for that ? _BASTARDI ! PENSATE CHE POTETE VENIRE QUI PER SCOCCIARMI COME NIENTE FOSSE _?!"

Silence.

"The Spanish peninsula is troubling you again ?"

Seriously, why was he a country again ? If _these men_ where able to tell things he didn't even want to think about ? His mouth stayed wide agape from the previous screaming, and the lack of reaction made one of the taller mafiosi (was he a capodecina ?) laugh out loud, literally.

As in, throwing his head back and almost chocking himself on his breath.

Romano seriously _hated_ the mafia.

And he really felt in no way guilty when a few of those had decided to go to America. Hamburger bastard deserved it any way.

"None. of. your. business." he screeched in a tone he would later affirm to have been perfectly manly, and not something that would be worth a teenage girl when seeing her favorite band on TV. As one of them began to untie the rope he had been immobilized with, he began to fear what they were planning to do. Especially since the others had gathered and were now discussing something he doubted to be cooking recipes, one of them sometimes looking back at him with a playful smirk and nodding before turning around.

They weren't going to kill him. Nobody would be stupid enough to kill their country. He couldn't die anyway.

But he would rather not spend a few decades attached to a cement block in the _Mar Tirreno _if he could avoid it.

He unwillingly jumped when they all turned around in one swift motion, his back was somehow against the wall now, and they all glanced at him, barely acknowledging his presence, looking serious. Business serious.

"Okay, _boss_. We have something we would like to discuss. What about a deal ?..."

This was heading nowhere good, and Romano now really, _really_ regretted not to have stayed in bed that morning.

"What... what would that be ?" he tried not to sound scared, what he actually almost managed to, and took a step forward. One of the men lit a cigarette and started smoking it in an over-dramatic manner, and when he blew out the smoke, responded "We get you rid of Carriedo and you let us finish whatever we started in your country. Sounds fair, right ?"

Silence.

"You want to kill... Spain."

"Well– "

"A country."

The mafioso looked around, asking for support. Another one interrupted them.

"We would just send him into the sea with a one-way ticket and a little cement." Romano rolled his eyes, he knew those guys only too well.

"What makes you think I want to get rid of him ?" he tried not to blush, and at the stunned look on the face of "his" men and the snickers that followed told him that he had, indeed, failed. One of them came closer, sat on the ground next to him, and then whispered "Wanna tell Signor Gianni ?"

_The fuck ?_

"What the hell do you mean... ?" He understood when a gun was pointed toward him and the other man made a hand motion to make him sit. "This is Gianni, my best friend. I'm sure you'll have a nice talk." Still smiling.

Romano sat down, more out of shock than obedience or fear. So he was the country... representing _them_. No shit.

Well, in that case he never wanted to meet any member of the American mafia. And even less the Russian mafia.

"There is nothing _you_ would need to know. I would love you to get the hell out of here, but if it's not possible, at least don't mess with my personal life !"

Silence once again.

"So it DOES have something to do with Spain !"

"FUCK YOU, EVIL MUFFINS !"

* * *

They finally had let Romano go. What time was it ? He was tired, annoyed, lost, irritated, cold and _hungry_. If anyone happened to pop up next to him in the next half an hour, he might kill that person. There is just so much an Italian can stand before screaming bloody murder, and that limit had been exceeded when they decided to play psychologists with him. They had forced him to talk about his personal life (THEIR OWN COUNTRY !), and then they had told him he needed to go home to "solve some sexual tension". What. Was. Wrong. With those people ? HIS people ! Why was everyone so perverted ? The potato bastard and his dissolved country of a brother, the French bastard, the generally angry Briton, the sushi-eating freak and his breast-groping fan, the frying pan wilding bitch, the tomato bastard... And the list could go on and on if he really cared for all those people. But really : "sexual tension" ? Between him and... him ?! And why had he told them the thing with Spain speaking Italian ?

… Right, he had landed there _because_ of Spain, his stupid talking, and his stupid brother.

"ANTONIO, FELICIANO, BE DAMNED ! BOTH OF YOU !" he shouted with such a vehemence he thought his vocal cords would be sore for the next two hours.

His back might too, because he was assaulted by something shorter and younger but just as Italian as himself and fell down.

"VE, _FRATELLO ! ERO ANSIOSO !_ I was driving through Rome and people would keep on not paying attention and I had multiple accidents and because of that my car had difficulties turning on again when it broke down later and then I received this call from your mobile phone but it wasn't you and then a guy called Alfredo, which by the way is a very horrible name, said that you were going to be here and you are and, more importantly, ARE YOU OKAY ?!"

Veneziano was now panting heavily, and even if Romano was used to it, he sometimes didn't know how his brother could talk for one minute straight without breathing in between. Or randomly appear out of nowhere. And to be honest, he hadn't really understood anything besides that he was worried and wondering if he was fine. Something with a phone too. And accidents.

The lack of reaction made the northern half of Italy snap, but before he could go on another half an hour rant about what a terrible brother he was and how he should have taken Spain (and his war ax) with him, Romano interrupted him with a simple "I'm fine, idiot. What time is it, anyway ?" Veneziano didn't seem offended in the least, if not even relieved his brother was alright, and looked at his mobile phone.

"Eleven twenty in the evening." he chirped happily. "You've only been gone for five hours and a half, ve !"

"Only... Great. Where is your car ?" Romano didn't even _make_ an attempt at understanding how his brother could have made math this fast.

"Over there !" Veneziano said, still very happy, although looking thoughtful for a second. "Ve, big brother... Where is your Vespa ?"

Romano's cursing could be heard until Milan.

* * *

Translations

_BASTARDI ! [...] FOSSE ?! : Bastards ! You think you can come here to piss me off as if nothing happened ?! I believe this is correct, shoot me if not D:  
FRATELLO ! ERO ANSIOSO ! : Brother ! I was worried !_

Additional notes :_  
* The _Mar Tirreno_ is the Italian name for the _Tyrrhenian Sea_, located on the western coast of Italy, it is surrounded by different parts of the country : Corsica (which, by the way, is French) and Sardinia in the west, Tuscany, Lazio, Campania, Basilicata, and Calabria in the east, and Sicily in the south. [wikipedia] As you can see, a big part of South Italy, and also including Sicily, birthplace of the Mafia.  
* A capodecina is a "rang" in the Italian mafia : you have the boss, then the underboss, and then the capodecina, at the head of about 10 people.  
* The Italian immigration spread the mafia in different countries such as the USA or Canada. No need to explain the Russian mafia, I believe :3  
* The story takes place somewhere near Rome. Actually, Rome is considered part of Central Italy, but Himaruya-san made it South Italy, whatever. Milan is a city in Northern Italy though, and a little less than 600km away / 5h30 by car. Quite a big distance, Romano has good vocal cords, huh ?_


	4. Chapter 4

_AN : Chapter 4, huhu, my updates are fast~ :D I still hope there is not too much OOCness...  
_

_I'm currently working on a AU, quite a bit Romano-centric, but I hope to be able to include all APH characters that have yet appeared (plus maybe a few others [Netherlands pwns you :D !]). Couples would include SpeRo, probably GerIta, AusHun, China/Japan, and other side-pairings... Yeah. In short, there'd be an association with guys who kill for money. It sounds a lot less elaborated this way then it is, but I want it to stay vague. Fear me. Also, you should know that I have a secret (not) obsession with Mafia!Romano and complexed!Romano. Which means you totally know where this is gonna lead.  
_

_

* * *

_

The drive home was rather silent with Veneziano being generally happy ("I found you, brother!") and Romano being generally grumpy ("Bastards, taking my Vespa, I swear, one day I am going to..."). But after all, things hadn't gone too bad, and to be honest, Romano had kind of forgotten how everything had started.

That is, until he arrived and realization struck him. There still very probably was something annoyingly _Spanish_, and that annoyance would soon come out to greet him, and he really was in no mood to deal with him. His brother interrupted his train of thoughts by stating the obvious :

"Ve, I forced big brother Spain to stay here while I was looking for you and he probably made something to eat. But I've been looking for you really long and I don't know if he's still awake, though I don't think he would go to sleep if you weren't ho–"

"LOVI!"

Romano was assaulted for the second time that day, and this time by a very noisy, very clingy Spaniard. His first reaction was to scream "WHAT?!", his second to blush at the realization, the third to push the other away. The fourth would have been to curse, but he held himself back (_nonono he understands you_), and he walked towards the house, with just one vague "'m hungry". His brother caught up with him, eyes wide, shocked.

"_Fratello_, what's wrong?!"

"...Nothing?" Romano hesitated.

"You didn't yell at Spain! That's not normal! Ve..."

"He's right Lovi, did something happen to you? Where were you? Oh, _Dios mío_, were you attacked?!"

"WILL YOU JUST BOTH SHUT UP?!" Seriously, why was everyone either sex-obsessed or hysterical today? Was he the only sane being on this continent?

"Lovi... it's because of earlier, right? Whatever I did, _mi dispiace_."

He cringed.

"Stop that."

"_Che_?"

"THAT!" He wasn't even sane himself...

He couldn't stand the Spaniard speaking in Italian anymore, it made him feel very strange (as in all fuzzy inside and just wanting to grab him here and there and have his way– strike that, he did not). He was persuaded to be very red in the face, and the look his brother gave him confirmed it. A look of surprise, and then something like very deep understanding, and a smile. No, wait, a smirk. He grabbed Romano's arm, took him a little further away from the Spaniard, whispered "Good luck, _fratello_, but make sure he's not too sore to walk after that, he told me the tomatoes need to be harvested.", and left. He spoke louder once he reached his car, so that both could hear, "Ve, I forgot to tell you, but I promised to make Ludwig pasta for breakfast, I have to go now if I want to wake up before him!"

Italy's words only began to slowly sink in when he had already left and his car was out of eyesight. Romano turned even redder than before (surprisingly, it was possible), and made a mental note to add his brother to the list of perverts he had done earlier. He didn't like Spain. Not at all. And even less was he attracted by him. He was not affected by his tanned and sun-kissed skin, his emerald green eyes, or the soft smile that made his face smoother than anything he could think of, the scent he would always inhale when the other hugged him close, the–

He violently hit his head with his fist, while Spain looked at him as if he were insane. Noticing his slightly awkward gesture, he rammed his head into the other's stomach, still very red, and screamed "This is all YOUR fault, bastard!!!".

* * *

"So Lovi, how is the paella?" Spain asked, nibbling on a tomato slice on his plate. There was still a lot of food, and even though the older nation had expected the younger Italian to be there too, Romano should have been eating more (but he was deep in thoughts).

"Hmm?" he looked up. "Oh, it was okay, I guess..."

The tomato fell out of Spain's mouth when he stiffened in utter shock at the tame and nice response, and looked as if Romano had just announced he was pregnant and only going to wear pink dresses from now on.

Or planning to get married to Russia.

Either way, he had frozen for a split second, and in another split second, was next to the Italian, his hand on the other's forehead, looking seriously worried and tears at the corner of his eyes. He was babbling about things and others, making a mix of Spanish, English and Italian without noticing it, and Romano could only look at him in pure confusion. What had he just asked anyway?

He hadn't asked him how his day had been?

No?

Well, _shit_.

"What... What did you ask, bastard?"

Spain interrupted his lamentations, gave him a surprised look, and repeated his question. "The paella, how is it?"

"Er... Edible." Romano just noticed the closeness of Spain's face, his face a deep red again, and the idiot thought it would be best to invade his personal space even more than he already had... by leaning closer and touching his forehead to his. The Italian spluttered and shoved him away, before stomping out of the kitchen with in his head the firm idea to go to his room, lock himself in again, and this time open the door _under no circumstances_. Said project quickly had to be changed and a new part was added consisting in strangling, or knocking out (whatever came first), the ever-so-cheery person behind him, because the Spaniard had the bright idea to try to calm him down by talking.

In Italian.

_Italian_.

As if in slow motion, Romano turned around, expression murderous to hide what he really felt like right now (grab him, throw him on the ground, rip his shirt off... no no no. This wasn't right. He must be sick.), and just _stared_. Spain would surely shut up, if he had a little bit of brain left.

"_Romano, scusa! Non volevo farti infuriare! Che cosa posso fare per farmi perdonare?_"

"_Tappati la bocca_."

"_Ma Romano, se voglio migliorare il mio accento–_"

"_CHIUDI IL BECCO!_" he screamed, stubbornly and tightly clasping his hands over his ears.

His eyes were slightly red, his cheeks had turned pink long ago, and he was on the verge of tears. He felt exhausted, annoyed, betrayed, close to a mental breakdown, inferior to his brother once again, troubled by all those feelings... He was also hurt and felt very lonely. And on top of all that, he was humiliated, because _Spain of all people_ was speaking Italian.

He had no idea how to say this to the person in front of him in a way he would understand though, because he wouldn't know why he felt betrayed or humiliated, so Romano did what he could do best.

He turned around. He _fled_.

After all the times he had promised himself not to, he still had. Because it was all he could do now. He didn't feel ready to face Spain with those new feelings because he exactly knew what would happen if he did, and though he was only thinking it Romano had a hard time admitting it, even if only to himself...

He would drive him mad, with that _sexy Spanish accent_.

* * *

_AN : QUIT DENYING IT LOVI, Spain's accent is sexy. Hur~_

_Translations :  
Dios mío (Esp) : My god  
Mi dispiace (It) : I'm sorry  
Che ?__ (It)__ : What ?  
__Romano, scusa! Non volevo farti infuriare! Che cosa posso fare per farmi perdonare?__ (It)__ : Romano, sorry ! I didn't want to infuriate you ! What can I do to be forgiven/for you to forgive me ?  
Tappati la bocca__ (It)__ : Shut up  
Ma Romano, se voglio migliorare il mio accento–__ (It)__ : But Romano, if I want to improve my accent-__  
CHIUDI IL BECCO ! : SHUT UP ! _[apparently Italians have a great diversity in swearing. I seriously love that language :')

Edit : Thank you very much, Italian!anon! I'm glad you corrected the mistakes, since I know my Italian is a lot more horrible than it should be after 3 years of studying the language (not that you could really count the 1st and 3rd years as being very productive, but it's not always the teachers' fault). I'm honestly planning on improving my Italian, and I'm very happy you helped me with that :)


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N : Thanks to Gemini Artemis for the punctuation, I won't make the mistake from now on~ ^^ Or at least will try not to._

_Quick update for all of you. I also noticed that I didn't put a disclaimer in any of the chapters... Oh well. Hetalia does not belong to me, the idea was from the kink meme. I did only write it._

_Woot, French exam written part is done! It's so good to write in English after 4 hours spent of writing in French... *sighs* Now I have to work for the oral part and my physics/chemistry for tomorrow. Yay._

_Enjoy ! :'D_

* * *

So this was how he had managed to land locked in his bedroom with the Spaniard in front of the door for the second time of the day.

Well, technically, it was already the day after, since it was past midnight.

But that wasn't the point.

The bastard had not said anything for a good amount of time, and Romano was wondering if he hadn't left. After all, why would he stay here with an annoyed an uncooperative Italian? There was silence for a little while longer, and Romano started to undress. He was thinking, and tired. And because he was tired, his thinking didn't make a lot of sense.

Because otherwise, he reasoned, why would he be thinking about this all the time? It troubled him _when_ Spain was talking Italian, but why was he thinking about it when he _wasn't_?

He had just gotten his pajama pants on (you were never too careful with the Spaniard in your house) when he heard a soft knock on the door. The voice was calm and his words were echoing through Romano's head when he realized their meaning.

"Lovi, I found a book. You don't mind me reading it to you, do you?"

A book. He found a book in Italian, which wasn't very difficult at his place. Reading it to him. That meant he was going to speak in Italian (Romano could still be very sharp-minded when half-asleep).

His brain immediately reacted : "open the door, take the book, slam it back into his face" was what it said. He did indeed open the door, but before he could grab anything, the Spaniard fell into the room.

Fell, as in, fell onto the ground.

Hard.

And as cliché as it sounds, Spain somehow managed to make Romano tumble and fell on his arm in the process (and it hurt rather much).

So he actually had planned Romano to overreact to get into the room?

"_BASTARDO!_"

* * *

The silence was (unfortunately for Romano) only one-sided. Spain's cheer, blabber, talking and just generally _usual_ attitude just wouldn't stop, about how he was worried because he didn't hear anything in a long time, how he had never wanted to upset Romano, and was he furious about what he'd done? Because of course, Spain had _somehow_ managed to lock Romano's door and keep the key, so the other couldn't escape. He already used the "I need to go to the bathroom" and "I am hungry" excuses, as well as threats and actual body harm ; the Spaniard just wouldn't let him out.

And he actually really had gotten a book.

Which meant that, sooner or later, he was going to read it. Out loud. Which meant Romano was going to have to materialize all his willpower into a wall between them or handcuffs to tie himself somewhere far away to be able not to jump Spain when he would start reading.

_Life sucks_ was his conclusion.

"I'm going to read now, you okay with that, Lovi?"

"No I'm not. Not like it matters to you, you keep on doing it anyway."

Spain chuckled. "Well, you're right. I just don't know why it makes you so upset."

"You're butchering the language, dammit. It's unbearable." Romano turned a little pinker when he noticed that the second part of what he had said was actually what he really meant. It was unbearable in many ways : uncomfortable, treacherous, and to his own dismay, the word "arousing" would somehow describe it rather well too. Romano was not the kind of person to easily get distracted : that was his brother. But when it came to silent monologues ("You like it!" "No I don't!"), he didn't always pay attention to the world around him. He was in one of those reveries, until he noticed Spain was poking him.

And _grinning_.

"Well... Better start working at pronouncing it better right now, right?"

Oh fucking dammit, _no_!

"You. Are. Not." he breathed menacingly while dangerously pointing a finger at him.

He did. It was some fucking old history book that must have been written two centuries ago, and if it wasn't already enough it was in Italian, it was _about _Italy.

Romano made a very dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat ; not that Spain minded it or reacted to it in any way. As the book was opened, Romano closed his eyes, slowly preparing himself to either yell or hide. When the soft noise of a few pages being turned echoed through his head, he was about to chose the first option, but unfortunately for him, Spain's voice rose before he could start to cuss.

He literally froze.

He could feel the temperature of his cheeks rise considerably while his body temperature dropped a few degrees at the way Spain pronounced the words. He wasn't even sure if he was paying more attention to what came out of the Spaniard's mouth, or to said body part itself. His lips were moving in unison with the syllables that spilled out of his mouth, the ineluctable cascade of sounds driving Lovino mad and he noticed things he never thought he would before. How Antonio happened to lick his lips between some words ; how his brows furrowed when he wasn't sure of the way to pronounce a sentence ; how his grin was still present on his face ; how his eyes were shining and gleaming with that intense emerald shimmer ; how his brown locks of hair were happily bouncing around his head ; the scent of tomatoes, earth, sea, spices and what made him be _Spain_ ; the closeness of his face, his widening eyes, his pink cheeks, his breath in puffs against his own face--and wait a second, why was he laying on the bed?

Romano noticed Spain didn't know either.

Because the Italian somehow happened to be on top of him now.

His body had moved on its own.

* * *

_Denial!Lovi ? Where ? *whistles innocently*_


	6. Chapter 6

_AN : Writing smut is difficult. Terribly.  
Foreplays are a lot of fun to write though... So here, have some._

* * *

The intoxicating breath was hitting him hard as if he had run head first into a wall. He couldn't think, he was just staying where he was, towering over Antonio, his mouth slightly parted as if he was about to say something, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed. The Spaniard had stopped reading, rather unable to move, and that was probably what had made Lovino return to reality. He **had** been close to him before, but that was quiet new, since he usually didn't have butterflies in his stomach whenever he was in the near vicinity of the Spaniard and did not run through his mind the twenty-seven different ways he had found to rip off his shirt.

And damn, he looked rather hot (and terribly clueless) right now.

"Lovi...?" he hesitantly tried "Is my reading really _this_ terrible?"

The words came over Lovino like a bucket of ice cold water. He thought there was a limit to the Spaniard's denseness, but it was obviously a lot further than he had expected it to. Hell! He might just as well do some _very obvious_ things and he still wouldn't notice!

…

That gave him an idea, and his lips moved into a smirk. Spain's eyes grew wide at that.

"Hey, Lovi... I mean, _mi disp_--"

"Shut up." Romano demanded, moving his face lower. "Seriously, just shut the fuck up." and as if to prove his point, he trailed his tongue along the Spanish neck. He tasted just as intoxicating as he looked – the salt of the sea, the wind of the plains, the spices, the sun, the tomatoes, the _passion_ –, and Romano liked that. He licked lower, noticing that he had undone almost all the buttons of Spain's shirt without noticing it when he caught a nipple between his lips and started sucking at it gently, while a hand softly pinched at the other. So his hands moved on their own too?

In the meantime, Spain was having a hard time thinking.

This was not okay. There was something wrong in all this, and that something was Romano. When he'd get out of whatever state he was currently in, he would kill him. Or try to. Which was almost as bad.

Stupid skilled tongue of his made it difficult to do anything though, and before he knew it, Spain had moaned loudly, immediately biting down on his lower lip when he realized it.

This was the exact reason why he hadn't been talking Italian for all those centuries. If Romano heard him, he would want to get revenge for him being forced to learn Spanish, but this was seriously unfair! Romano sat up on Spain's legs, and the older nation did nothing but stare at the ceiling. He knew that game : tease the person until they react positively and then go away. It was a terrible torture, but he would never have thought that his Lovi would take part in such a pla--

"Oi!" he ground his hips down, and Spain let out a gasp. "Bastard, move, or I'm never gonna get your shirt off!"

That was not the threat he had expected.

* * *

A minute later, Spain's hesitation was all gone, and Romano would have never thought that a string of curses in his native tongue could have such an effect on him, because he could swear he never found the word '_merda_' sexy. Ever. But Spain made him see things from a different point of view, apparently.

He felt like having some more fun.

As in, messing with geography.

Where was that city in the south again...?

His finger played with the Spaniard's hair and traced his jawline, neck, and muscles, when he finally remembered. Spain had told him once (he had so many wounds from all his years of fighting that Romano had somehow learned the geography of the country looking at the other's scars when he explained where he had all gotten them from), and he was going to make good use of that. He drew circles along the Spaniard's stomach, his face getting closer to it...

"_Ciolla_!"

Romano smirked. "You mean "_cazzo_", don't you?" Spain opened his eyes, slowly recovering. "I heard... some of your people say i– AH!" he threw his head back against the pillow when the younger nation gave another long lick at his belly button (who would have thought Málaga was this sensitive?), and trailed his fingers the whole way back to his face, along the tanned skin, over muscles, circling and pinching a nipple (which elicited a rather satisfying moan from the Spaniard). He then whispered huskily into Spain's ear "Yeah... If you've been to Sicily, sure."

The fact that he was now completely flustered by thinking about _what exact part_ of Lovino Vargas Sicily could be only caused said Italian's smirk to grow wider, and he scooted closer, bodies pressed flush together, murmuring in what could only be described as a _tempting_ voice "I know what you're thinking, bastard. Find it out yourself..."

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo didn't need things to be told twice (not this time).

In one swift motion, he had managed to pin the smaller and very surprised man to the bed and was now towering over him. "Really?" He said, raising an eyebrow, while the Italian smirked once more, not the slightest bit annoyed and even challenging him by imitating his gesture "Sure. I could for example ask you to find _Palermo_..."

That did it.

The older nation's mouth was at Lovino's neck in an instant where he kissed his way along the sensitive skin – slow passionate kisses, each one _just at the right spot_, he softly bit down near Lovino's collarbone and sucked and licked at his wound. The short gasps the southern Italian made sent jolts down his body, and damn it, no, he couldn't just take his Lovi here and there when they still weren't fully unclothed yet!

Although it was very tempting, and if he took the belt off he would just have to--

He decided against it. He didn't want to deal with an annoyed Lovino, even less with a murderous one.

"_Sei bello_." he whispered against his skin, and the ragged gasp he gave him as a response was the most satisfying sound he could ever think of. "_Ti amo_." he continued, slowly pressing butterfly kisses to the Italian's neck, along his jawline, with that Spanish laziness he was –unfortunately– so well-known for. How he managed to alternate this easily between the sensual and _so fucking slow_ licks and the passionate kisses was beyond Lovino.

Not that he cared.

* * *

_Translations:_

_Merda (It) Shit  
Sei bello (It) You're beautiful__  
Ti amo (It) I love you (I bet you didn't see that coming! :'D)  
_Cazzo _is common Italian, while _Ciolla _is__ Sicilian, both could be translated with an exclamation like "Fuck", though it actually means cock. Sicilian is an Italian dialect that mixes Spanish with it, and to be honest... I read part of a text in Sicilian, and holy sh*t, I didn't understand one single word Oo'  
__Málaga is, I believe, Spain's 6th biggest city, and is located in the south, in Andalusia. Don't ask why my head!canon made me do this, please._

_Did geography become... disconcerting to you too, now that you know Hetalia? Just to be sure if I have the issue or if I'm not the only one... xD_


	7. Chapter 7

_AN : Still the "first" time writing something smutty. So yes. You're warned. You can totally ignore that part, it's not very detailed anyway._  
_What do you mean, Romano has been holding something back the whole time? Totally not!_  
_Well, yeah... Enjoy ?_

* * *

"I know it might not be the best moment to ask this..." Spain suddenly said, effectively interrupting Romano's daze "But... how come? I mean, you acting like that, all of a sudden..." he received a growl in response, followed by a murderous scowl.

"You seriously never think before you talk, do you?"

"Well--"

"Wait, no, I don't think I want to know."

The positions were switched once again, angry Italian on top, clueless Spaniard under him. "You have issues." he said, and once he had, he immediately thought about France, and added "Your friends too. You should stop hanging around them."

"What does this have to do with--"

"Oh, just shut up." With that, he returned to Spain's neck, kissing, licking, biting, grazing his teeth over the skin ; then to his lips, playfully nibbling at the lower one, and licked there too before he was granted access. He slid his tongue into the other's mouth, effectively silencing any former complaints when their tongues started to battle. He was surprised he hadn't understood yet. Was he better at hiding it then he expected? No, wait, "his" _Mafiosi _had figured it out quickly. So it was just Spain who was being an oblivious moron. He stopped his ministrations, sat up straight on the other's legs, gave him a long, meaningful (or so he hoped) look and slid his fingers under the Spaniard's belt.

He undid it quickly, and couldn't help but smirk when he noticed a bulge at that certain strategic location, feeling proud. He then yanked his pants down (Spain was clever enough to help him with that), but before the Spaniard could do the same with his own pants, he stood up, satisfied by the confused expression and walked up to the drawer of his night table, where he took out a little bottle of an only too well-known liquid for the both of them. He then undid his belt, got rid of the clothe hiding his lower part by throwing it aside, and positioned himself back onto the bed, between Spain's legs. When he noticed the Spaniard still had his boxers on, he scowled at him and demanded in a rather intimidating tone to 'get that shit off because I'm not doing all the work, bastard', which Spain quickly complied to. He was _not_ going to protest. Not now.

When Romano was kissing him again, Spain was slowly wondering how he could snatch the little bottle of lube away without the Italian noticing. That was, before he grabbed the tube himself and coated his fingers in it, all the way looking at him and murmuring a faint 'wait... a minute...' when his fingers disappeared out of his eyesight.

When Romano arched his back in a soft whimper, Spain was dumbstruck (and also noticed that the Italian's underwear had gone missing. When had he...?). He was not just doing what he thought he was. That was Romano he was talking about, and Romano would neve--

But when he moaned out "Antonio..." in a way the Spaniard never imagined he would hear his name (even less by this certain Italian), there was no doubt left, and he found himself being left painfully hard ; painfully hard with what could relieve him just on top of him.

Spain had never seen seconds pass this slowly in all the centuries he'd been alive.

He hesitated between closing his eyes to steady his breathing (and at the same time cool down a certain part that wasn't getting enough attention in his opinion) and keep staring, but fortunately for him, Romano made the move before he needed to take a decision. One he might regret later, you never know.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Italian's whimpers stopped and he wiped his hand off on the bedsheets hastily, only to -_ohmygod finally!_- touch the other's throbbing member. It was in a way that drove him mad, _so slowly and_--why was he smirking?

"You know that you haven't said anything in a while, right? _Bastardo?_" Romano trailed his finger from the tip to the base of his length at his words and Spain wanted to reply 'What does it change anyway?' but instead uttered something that was closer to 'Didn't you tell me to shut up?'.

And immediately regretted it.

"You're such a fucking moron." came the statement and all at once the pressure on his erection disappeared and Romano's expression grew dark. The last time Spain remembered that particular look, it was when he had had to announce that yes indeed, he had bought potatoes and was _honestly_ thinking he could make them tonight's dinner, because Prussia had -surprisingly?- given him that recipe for _Kartoffelpuffer_ and he wanted to try it out--and why was he looking like someone who is about to commit murder and Lovi, you should seriously put this spoon down!

He didn't particularly like that look.

"Talk." Romano demanded in an inflexible voice. "In _Italian_." he continued, insisting on the second word. Then, he added almost as an afterthought "Now.".

Spain didn't even try to understand.

Especially when the first few words that came out of his mouth were rewarded by a slick hand slipping along his erect member, making it rather difficult to think as every single touch was driving him mad, as well as a mouth gliding along his neck and that other hand doing _those_ things to him. The second the touch left, he let out a short sound of dissatisfaction, only to be forced in a sitting position and see the body on top of him and then he was touched again and then there was that –oh_fuckfuckfuck_.

His thinking process was shot down for a few seconds as he felt something tight around his erection and the body going down further, followed by ragged gasps, hot breathings, whimpers, and another movement, faster this time, where Romano slid down completely and took him in.

His breathing hitched, his hands immediately shot up to grab the smaller male by his sides, his face buried itself in the crook of a neck.

This feeling could not be described.

It was relief and fire and their breathing and themselves, sensations of lust, passion, desire, and everything they had both been waiting for for _so long _at the same time...

After the first hit, Romano took another long breath, lifted himself up again, and sat down almost immediately after. Spain could help, he knew he could ; that's why he did.

When the pace of their movements increased -and _ohgod_ he was so _close_- their voices became louder too. An amalgam of sounds and languages, '_Ti amo_'s and '_Te quiero_'s neither of them were aware of, whispers, groans, _pleads_.

And everything went black.

It was actually more "white" than "black", if you could give it a color : purer than it could ever be a sin. The way they gripped at each other when they came almost simultaneously, holding onto each other like a lifeline, a feeling of contentment washing over them, the need, the bliss, the-- this could not be a sin.

Even when Romano tiredly lifted himself up and lied down onto the sheets Spain took care to wrap the both of them into after kissing his forehead, he was persuaded that what he had done wasn't _wrong_. _Strange_, yes, _awkward_, yes, _terribly unlike him_, yes... but not wrong. He could blame Spain later for everything anyway.

And when the Italian's breathing evened out, something similar to a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Spain could only let out a contented sigh and peacefully watch him while he slowly drifted off to sleep.

Still, if he had known...

Spain would have started speaking Italian a lot more often. _Damn_.

* * *

FFFFFFFFFFFFFF Finally it's done.

Translations :

_Ti amo & Te quiero : I love you _(what a shocker!)  
Kartoffelpuffer_ is a quite German dish, even if eaten in other countries too. It was the first thing that came to my mind when thinking about German cooking recipes with potatoes. I figured Gilbert might like them? Dunno..._

_I apologize for the failed smut :'D_

_And Spain is an unknowing perv, you know it. Here, grab a seashell, everyone.  
_


End file.
